


Everything’s Roses

by pretense



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:24:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense
Summary: America has a plan -- the best plan -- to make this year the Most Romantic Valentine’s Day Ever. Everything is going to be perfect, so perfect that England is sure to forget about his totally unheroic blunder last year.





	Everything’s Roses

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is part of [UKUSonly's 2018 calendar](http://ukusonly.tumblr.com/post/168953738267/)~  
> the full calendar is downloadable for free~ x3

America has a plan -- the best plan -- to make this year the Most Romantic Valentine’s Day Ever. Everything is going to be perfect, so perfect that England is sure to forget about his totally unheroic blunder last year. America sleeps early to prepare for the big day and when he wakes up he has already missed his flight.

Not exactly the best way to start his day but America powers through, driving to the nearest airfield so he can hop on his plane. He's got his cap on and his goggles but the engine just won't start. After multiple failed attempts, he gets out of the cockpit and inspects the hatch. Black smoke billows out. He covers his nose and mouth with the crook of his elbow, peering through the mess. A couple of mechanics rush over to help and it takes an hour or so to sort through (plus an earful on how he should've taken her for maintenance months ago) until he's cleared for take off. America is grateful and he's also running very, very late.

“No need to panic,” America tells himself once he's up in the air. “A hero always arrives at the last second to save the day!”

It's already sunset when he lands and London traffic is abysmal, delaying him even further. Gray clouds overhead are surely indicative of England's mood at present. America hasn't greeted him all day because he wanted to do it in person but now the day's about to end and England is probably being all mopey that America has apparently ignored him. He chews on his bottom lip in the meantime, the pangs of hunger long gone in his rush to just get to England.

America has made dinner reservations for seven but it's already past six when he gets to Number 10. The secretary's desk is empty but the light inside England's office is still on. Figures he'd still be working his ass off even if it's Valentine's Day, but for once America is grateful for it. It gives him hope. He fixes his hair and cleans his glasses, he smells like city smog and that makes him grimace. America pulls off his jacket and stuffs it inside his backpack, then he knocks on the door.

There's a moment of silence, then “Is that you, George?”

America puts up a grin. So he still has the element of surprise!

“Nope, even better!” He throws the door open, practically leaping inside. “Hey, Valen… tine?” The smile freezes on his face.

England is there, alright, but he's not alone.

There's an expensive-looking bouquet of red roses on his desk. It's lively colors make it stand out from the paperwork.

“America?” England stands halfway, looking rightly confused. “What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, America asks, “Are those flowers?” Which is a stupid question, he realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth, because there's no mistaking the roses for anything else -- the blooms are big and full, elegant. What he really wants to know is who sent them.

There's only one reason to have roses on Valentine’s Day, which could only mean…    
England has an admirer.   
Thinking of it leaves a bad taste in America's mouth. Worse is that he's standing there empty-handed. Like an idiot.  _ How  _ could he have forgotten to get flowers and chocolates? Those are the staple of any Valentine's celebration. It's like he hasn't learned anything from last year. America wants to hit his head against the nearest surface but before he can do that, England is in his space, kissing him.

England tastes like teacakes, warm and sweet, fragrant.

He can't possibly be cheating on him. America shakes his head internally. No way. Sure they have fights and really bad government situations… and sometimes America thinks England is too serious or England finds America too frivolous… and maybe they don't get to see each other very often these days but… but… America loves him! He'd said so so many times already. And England has said it, too! Or… well… America thinks he did. Has England ever said it to him, word for word? England always did have a roundabout way of saying what he means -- with flowery language  _ and _ flower language in his arsenal -- but surely --

A quiet smack resounds as they part. America swallows past the lump in his throat. “Am I… Am I too late?”

England rubs his thumbs over rounded cheeks. “What are you on about?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” America’s fists are clenched at his sides, voice strangled.

“Well, I certainly wasn't expecting  _ you _ ,” England says with a grin but it soon disappears. “You're shaking. Did you rush straight here from the airport? I could have picked you up--”

America shakes his head, mumbling, “Overslept, missed my flight.”

“Then you…” England's eyes are wide, his hands hovering uncertainly midair. “How did you get here?”

“Took my plane,” America answers. “Then I took a cab and traffic was horrible and--” He finds the clock on the wall which reads 6:50. He sighs. “And now we're gonna miss that dinner reservation.”

“You made dinner reservations?”

“I wanted to make today perfect.” America fixes his gaze to the floor, a sniffle disrupting what should have been a steadying exhale. He attempts a deep inhale but it's obstructed by another sniffle. “I-I wanted to surprise you! But everything keeps getting messed up and now I'm smelly and hungry and empty-handed!” America wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, blinking back angry tears.

 

Truth be told America does look scruffy, standing in England's office wearing garish high-top sneakers. There's grease on his pants and his shirt is more than a little creased. Nantucket is curled, tense like the line of his broad shoulders.

“Oh dear me, there's no need to let out the waterworks.” England offers his handkerchief. “Dry those tears now, and blow your nose.” America obliges, sounding like a trumpet when he does. It only makes England all the more fond of him.

“You know,” England says conversationally. “If your objective was to surprise me then I'd say you've achieved it.”

“But… But it was supposed to be romantic!” America stomps a foot in protest. “Not like this…”

England wants to kiss those pouted lips. America can be so adorable in the least expected ways, so earnest and so dramatic. He holds himself back, brushing aside that golden fringe instead, clearing the way for America to look at him again. “Not romantic, you say?” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Flying across the Atlantic just to spend Valentine’s together is plenty romantic.  _ Heroic _ , even.”

The use of his favorite word gets America’s chin up. Hopeful eyes find England looking back at him and suddenly nothing else matters. But then he spots the bouquet again (it’s really hard to ignore with how red and fancy it is) and America deflates. “I forgot to buy you flowers again.”

Now England looks at him confused. “No, you didn’t.”

“... I didn’t?” America blinks.

England returns to his desk, picking up a white card from the bouquet wrappings. He presents it to America, bemused. “Unless there's someone else named America out there, I am most certain this came from you.”

 

_ DEAR ENGLAND, _

_ I can’t believe you got mad that I didn't bring flowers last year. Your house is surrounded by a garden of them and I'm 100% sure your roses are more beautiful than anything I can buy. But I guess you got jealous that every other couple at the dinner cruise got bouquets and stuff. You silly old Brit. _

_ So here! I ordered these in advance so you won't be grumpy anymore. As a hero – no, as your boyfriend, it's my job to make everything better, to make sure you only get the best! _

_ With all my love, _

_ AMERICA _

 

America's face burns. He definitely remembers now -- the gloom, the anxiety, the manic late night Amazon shopping for the best flower shop in London -- he did all that. And he completely forgot about it.

_ Ahh how embarrassing! _

“You’re only a few hundred years old, you shouldn’t be this forgetful already.” England’s tone is admonishing but his lips are set to a smile.

“S-Shut up!” America covers the card - covers England’s entire fist - with his hand, pulling it low between them so he wouldn’t have to see it. If only he remembered then he wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble to get here. …Well, no, that’s not right. Pre-ordered bouquet or no, America is pretty sure he still would have gone through hell to be here today.

“No need to be embarrassed.” England pats the stiff hand that’s gripping him, easing its staunch hold so as to avoid creasing the stationery card. “The roses are lovely but I’m happier to have you here.”

In the back of his mind, America swears that he’ll do this properly next year. And the year after that; and the next year; and the next year. He’ll do it for as long as England will have him. A relieved smile finally lifts America’s expression and he puts his hand on top of England’s. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Their lips meet once more over their joined hands, eyes slipping shut, content to breathe the same air as the sun sets beyond the curtained windows.

“Let’s just skip the dinner reservations,” England murmurs, lips brushing against America’s with every other word. “Come back to my house.”

America hums, giving an equally quiet, “Okay.”

“Take a hot bath while I prepare dinner.”

His body shivers, Texas digging into the bridge of his nose as he leans in for another kiss. “And after dinner?”

England’s eyes flutter open, half-lidded over a telling grin. “Oh, we’ll figure something out.”


End file.
